With love, from Ary
by destructoxgirl
Summary: REVISED, AND ALL NEW! [An Original Character Scentric Story!] The tale of a young woman who attends Hogwarts during the age of the Marauder's and who, in turn, becomes the most vividly forgotten sacrifice of the great war between good and evil. R&R!
1. Prolouge

**Disclaimer: **This is a story that I had started almost two years ago, while I was an avid roleplayer. The character this story is centered upon is the product of those days, my baby of sorts, who I created and fine tuned with the help of many people. Together with my friends, whom I have unfortunately lost touch with, we created a world in which we often roleplayed in, in the Marauder's Era, day by day. A world where Aryanna Wood fit in without a shadow of a doubt. I suppose this story is slightly alternate universe, so you will have to approach it with an open mind. Basically, I cannot take credit for all the aspects of this story. The Marauder's, and the world of Harry Potter, exists only because J.K. Rowling made it so. The spin on James Potter, belongs to a very talented former roleplayer named Ams, as the way Lily is characterized, belongs to my former friend Nat. So I hope that I did their characters, who they loved, some justice. Maybe this will serve as some type of a tribute to the years of my life I spent.. online, pretending with you ladies. :D

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Life isn't short, but it doesn't last forever. It's hard to see it when you're living it, but every single decision you make leads you to a greater picture, pushes you away from who you are and towards who you're supposed to be. What you eat, where you go to school, where you live, the people you surround yourself with and the dignity and respect (or lack thereof) with which you treat them. It's hard, when living, to see how such miniscule decisions can change your entire life. But they do.. I just wish I would've realized that.

When I lived, I was a vivacious little girl, with masses of chocolate brown ringlets, freckled, pale skin, and big green eyes. I had a sharp tongue, short fuse, a thick Irish brogue and a penchant for rude hand gestures, even from a young age. When you grow up the youngest of four brothers, you learn the concept of survival of the fittest. You are only a strong as the hits you can take, and jokes you can make at the expense of your siblings. But I was tough, or at least, outwardly so. But it wasn't enough.

My dad was a wizard, a rather capable Auror for the Ministry of Magic who was permanently stationed at the wizarding high-security prison, Azkaban. My mum was a muggle, a pretty little thing from the Killarney region of Ireland, but vapid and materalistic. My poor father fell for her, and hard at that. But he had no illusions, he wanted to support his beautiful young bride in a style be-fitting her upbringing, but he knew that the second she found out about his real profession, of his blood and the magic deep inside, she would leave. So he hid it, he lied and did his best to create a glamour over his true identity, and his powers. He charmed his work robes, so that on apparation back into the hills behind our little cottage, they would transform into an exact replica of the uniform worn by the police force of Dublin. I was four years old when he died, another victim to the killing curse. He made the mistake of dropping his wand, of letting it fall into the hands of a disgruntled inmate and for us, that cost us--.. cost me, my father. It was shortly after this incident that the Ministry of Magic removed Wizard guards and instead, implimented the use of Dementors. They feared the loss of other great wizards, and in their eyes, the Dementors, filthly creatures that they are, were more powerful and more expendable.

When the letter arrived from the Department of Death Notification of the Ministry of Magic, my mum was outraged, furious. I can't say that I blame her, in a sense. She found out that the life she'd been living had been a lie, that the man who had fathered her five children, was tainted.. infested and filthy, in my mother's eyes. She destroyed our entire living room, ripping the apholestry on armchairs and the sofa, throwing collectibles. Picture frames came crashing down from the walls in showers of glass and shredded photographs. From that moment on, she viewed anything relating to the magical society as disgusting, a stain on the existence of humanity. When I was eleven, another letter came, this time addressed to me, and in that moment, her disgust for the magical race, her righteous indignation at the betrayl of my father, all became honed towards her youngest daughter. _I had been invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _I was now repulsive to her, and a danger to the household as long as she kept me under her roof. So she shipped me off, a pocketful of muggle money, and all my worldy posessions thrown hap-hazardly into my battered old trunk. I stood, eleven years old, outside of the Leaky Cauldron, scared out of my wits. Tom, always a kindly old chap, ushered me into his bar, and gave me a room, instructed me in how to go about getting my school supplies. When September 1st rolled around, he sent me on my way towards King's Cross station, to board the Hogwart's express. He sent me on a path that would alter the rest of my life. It was Hogwart's that became home to me, it's hallowed halls and cobblestone floors, drafty corridors, it's creaking suits of armour, mischevious ghosts, and even more mischevious students.

I was many things when I lived that I lost in death, though the memory of them still lives on, bittersweet in it's everlasting existence, a reminder of the things that were robbed from me with the uprising of the Dark Lord. I was a mother, a god-mother, a chaser, and Quidditch Captain. I was a waitress, and in turn an Auror, a fabulous Charms student, and an equally bad hand at Transfiguration. I loved, and I lost, and though I fought, I was still forced to leave my only son behind. The smallest comfort existed in the simple fact that his own god-parents still lived to look after him. But even they would join me, an red haired witch, as beautiful in death as she was in life, and her husband, a lean man, bespectacled, with a wayward mop of raven hued hair resting a top his head, which even death could not tame. A sad smile pressed against his familiar lips, lips I'd so often seen grinning at me, or formed in the shape of a laugh. _Oh James. _Selfishly, I had wished to see them again, to have the chance to say to them all the things, in life, I couldn't bear to say. But not like this. One by one, they all join me, as if they'd never left, leaving the next generation of Wizards behind, our children. _Sirius_, he comes after James and Lily, and in that moment I knew that if I had any breath to hold, it would be bated. Then Peter comes... and even in death, the old grudges hold, and Sirius forgets that he cannot throttle the cowardly man, the Death Eater, as he throws himself at the feet of James and Lily, his most brutal of victims. Sirius will settle for an eternity of hatred and torture towards his cowardly former friend. Remus comes at last, _dear sweet Remus._ At last we are one, as we were in life, while our children live on. They fight and they love and they mourn us, and they win the battle at last, in the name of us, the lost ones. The sacrifices of war. Their story will live on, one of glory and triumph, but who will tell ours?

It is my sincerest hope that this will somehow reach my son, who does not know of my existence, perhaps as an after thought on the wind, or in the mists of dreams. Although, I truly do not exist anymore. I lived in the memories of those who surround me now, of Lily, my dorm mate and of James, my best friend. I have been, in Oliver's eyes, replaced. He has parents, his true father, who I tried so hard to keep him from when I lived, and his step-mother, a woman who has taken my position, and claimed herself responsible for his birth. It's bitter, but as James reminds me, how can I truly despise a woman who has treated Oliver so kindly, and given him all the things that I cannot? Still, the memory of his birth still lives on inside me, so strong that I have to grit my teeth against even the memory of the pain, as if it were crashing over me again, though I have only the imprint of my former body. I've tried, foolishly perhaps, to remind Oliver that I existed, his mother, that even in death I love him more than any other, that I died to give him a world where he would be safe. A world where he could raise his own children. It's bittersweet, that I left no legacy, that none still exist who would be able to tell my story to my son. So I'll tell the story now, though what good will come from it, I can't know. My own son, and my god-son, the only two people in this world who I would wish to hear it, cannot. But even the dead still feel pain, and in the telling of our lives, I hope to alleviate some of mine.


	2. Chapter One

**September the 1st, 1970.**

The taxi cab back fired, almost angrily, leaving a young girl standing, sputtering in a cloud of exhaust. _Toxic Fumes. _She put a tentative hand to her mouth, trying to stop from inhaling the junk, imagining her insides being liquefied by an unknown agent, fast as light and smelling of petrol. The imaginative young girl looked around, slowly at first, trying to take in the hustle and bustle of the busy train station. All around Aryanna Wood, people hurried to their destinations, stood in long, winding queues in order to obtain tickets. A variety of people --_muggl_es! -- she reminded herself. She'd read the term in the first school book purchased after receiving her acceptance letter, a text book called 'Hogwarts: A History! ' by Bathilda Bagshot.

Trundling for-wards cautiously, tugging her trunk along behind her, she made it a point to ignore the angry calls of the Brits surrounding, angered by her slow pace and over-sized and battered trunk. She stood her ground though, eyes roaming the platform signs, focused on her destination. _Platform Nine and Three Quarters? _That had sounded odd, but Tom had assured her that it did exist. But it wasn't there, wasn't listed in the directory, and there was no wooden sign for Platform Nine and Three Quarters hanging over a gate leading to the train. Fumbling with shaking fingers in the pockets of her faded jeans, retrieving a small, parchment ticket, she glanced down and back up.. confusion settled heavily on her features. Looking around the crowd, taking in the faces again, searching for one person who looked the slightest bit abnormal, or hell-- she would've even settled for one person who looked remotely friendly! Instead, people shoved and cursed, angry that she'd halted in the midst of the crowd, throwing elbows and shoves all the while.

" JAMES JACOB POTTER! " A voice to the left hissed, low and dangerous. Aryanna turned her head quickly in that direction, peering over the extremities of the crowd and around their bodies to try and get a closer look at where that voice had come from. She could just barely see the back of a very tall man, with tidy black hair, slightly graying, standing with his hands in his pockets, and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, surveying the situation unfolding in front of him.. His wife, however, a much smaller woman with sleek, straight brown hair cut stylishly into a bob, did not return his merry sentiment, and stood rigid and forbidding. Instead she had reached out, and seized someone.. her son, Aryanna assumed, by the ear. The angle was a difficult one for spying, but as she mumbled something, Aryanna could've sworn she saw the slightest twitch in her right arm, and something go flying from the hands of the boy... _Jeremy? No._ _James had his mother called him? _in front of her. He let out an indignant gasp, hands on his hips immediately, stomping his left foot.

" Rebecca! " The tall man, James' father reprimanded suddenly, glancing around him almost nervously. " The MUGGLES! " He exclaimed, lowering his voice.

_Muggles? _A jolt of excitement passed through the young woman.. but she couldn't just waltz over there and ask for their help without knowing for sure. So instead, pushing forward, trying to silence the noise of the trunk as she pushed closer to the arguing family, she sought another bit of confirmation.

" Don't you stomp your foot at me, young man. " The woman cried. " A dungbomb in a station full of muggles! What would they think? Against Ministry regulations! Breaking the rules before you even start.. If that's the way you want to start your first term at Hogwarts, you may as well turn your behind around and march right back out. I won't have it, James! I will not! And I don't think Dumbledore would approve very much either! "

This was it! Aryanna had definitely heard words she was becoming familiar with, in _Hogwarts: A History! _Dumbledore, according to Bathilda Bagshot, was the current headmaster of Hogwarts! And the lady had said Hogwarts, the belligerent looking boy standing in front of his mum was to be a fellow student! Rushing forward, sensing that there was not a lot of time left before the designated departure, ignoring the family's continued conversation as they headed to-wards Platform's Nine and Ten. The crowd seemed to tighten then, making it extremely difficult to reach the family, or to even keep eyes on them. A solid wall of bodies formed, obstructing Aryanna's vision just as the family reached the barrier between the two platforms. Using elbows to part the people, the family materialized once again... minus a member! The tall, black haired man had disappeared! But where? Where could he have gone? Maybe to get tickets?! That was plausible right! People couldn't just disappear into thin ai-...

" Bloody Hell! "

The boy, James, had just run full speed at the barrier. Aryanna expected a crash, yells of pain, the screech of metal and the _Thump! _of his trunk as it hit the ground, but instead he fell right through it. She stood, indifferent, blinking, unable to take in what she'd just seen for a moment before racing for-wards, hoping against hope to catch the young mother before she too joined her son and husband in the disappearing act. This time, her trunk succeeded in parting the crowd with the trolley it sat a top of. People cursed and yelled as the wheels ran over their feet, or the front end smacked into their knee's, but Aryanna ignored them and reached the dark haired woman just as she was about to step to-wards the barrier herself.

" Excuse me! Ma'am.. Mrs. Potter, was it? " Voice was thick with Irish accent, Aryanna posed her question just as she came to a screeching halt just before the trolley would have collided with the woman's lower half. She looked slightly affronted at first. Aryanna could feel the colour running up her neck, into her cheeks, and hastily, almost as if to disguise her embarrassment, she brushed the brown ringlets from her face before speaking again. " I'm sorry, I just.. I heard you speakin-.. Your son, the boy with the.. _dungbomb_, did you call it? I think he's supposed to be attending my school.. I've been looking for just over fifteen minutes.. " She leaned forward, glancing around as this woman's husband had done only moments before, and lowering her voice so that the people surrounding would not hear what she had to say next. " And I'm pretty sure that they made a mistake on my ticket, you know. For.. H-Hogwarts. _Platform Nine and Three Quarters_! It doesn't exist, ma'am. I've looked all over this bleeding station-.. s'cuse my language.. a-and I.. "

The woman, Rebecca Potter, smiled a warm smile, placing her small hand around Aryanna's shoulders as she ushered her matronly forward. " It does, my dear. It exists right before us... it's more of a glamour, you see. A charm placed over the barrier so the muggles can't see it!? Muggles are non-magical folk, you know that, right dear? Anyway, you just have to push through. If you know that it exists, you'll be able to pass through the Glamour. Rather brilliant, devised by the Ministry of Magic years and years ago! "

" Ministry of M-Magic? " She stuttered, as Mrs. Potter continued to push her closer and closer to the barrier. Trying to disguise her wince at the point of collision, Aryanna continued to stammer as they passed through the barrier trunk first and Mrs. Potter and the stammering, silence by shock girl after. " What the bloody hell is that? "

Mrs. Potter only chuckled, as they moved to-wards her son and his father, standing watching with mirrored expressions of curiosity.  
" One thing at a time, my dear. One thing at a time. Now come and meet our James. "

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As we approached, James eyed the brown haired girl with sudden curiosity, the belligerent look in his eyes replaced by a cheeky grin, and a glint of mischief. Immediately, his right hand flew to his head, mucking up his already un-ruly black hair.

" Picking up strays, mum? " James asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers and rocking back and forth on his feet, just like his dad. He was absolutely crackling with mischievous energy, and Aryanna could almost sense what he was about to say next. " Don't you usually have to discuss this with Dad first?!? After all, it takes two to tango, yknow mum, if you catch my drift? The baby-making tango, eh eh? " He elbowed his dad swiftly in the ribs, and winked at his mother. Rebecca Potter opened and closed her mouth several times, to a most unflattering effect. She looked rather like a fish out of water, gaping, obviously horrified at her eleven year old son's innuendos. Aryanna, however, couldn't suppress as grin, temporarily amused by the boy's cheek. Mr. Potter disguised what sounded like a deep chuckle behind a rather brutal, fake cough as he caught his wife's narrowed eyes. Even then, you could see the ghost of his son's grin as it tugged at the corner's of his lips, even as he turned to reprimand his son.

" James! Don't talk like that in front of the ladies. "

Rebecca cleared her throat rather viciously, as if expecting more from her husband. James Sr. turned back to his son a final time, adding hastily, and much more sternly than he actually meant, " And you're too young to be talking like that, boy. "

James Potter only grinned. It seemed that he was reprimanded a lot, and he seemed to bask in the action of rebelling against authority. His ruffled his hair again, almost arrogantly.

" Ignore him, dear. He doesn't quite know his place yet... " Rebecca mumbled, smoothing down Aryanna's hair in a gesture that she would never admit was terribly fond, albeit completely foreign to her. Affection of most kinds were foreign in the Wood household. Aryanna suspected she did so with her, because her own son would not allow her to execute such a loving gesture on him, especially not if it had to do with the hair he so often made an effort to keep a mess, or in a public that could worship him as his parents so often must have done. " Anyway, now, for introductions. James, this is.. " She paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. " Um. Dear? What is your name? Heavens, I hope I haven't forgotten it. "

James snorted.

" Aryanna. " She replied quickly, almost apologetically. " Aryanna Wood. "

" Good Godric! " James exclaimed, at noting the accent that clung on to each syllable of Aryanna's words. " She's foreign! "

Raising an eyebrow, her grin fading quickly, Aryanna repeated his words indignantly. " Foreign? I'm from Ireland! "

James ignored me, continuing on. " I thought she looked a bit peaky... mum, I think you got a shotty deal. She looks like the run of the litter to me! "

_Peaky? Runt? _Aryanna's reaction was almost instantaneous, she lurched forward, releasing her hold on her trunk and all her worldly belongings. Tiny hands seized hold of James and shoved his head down, grabbing the back of his shirt and tugging it over his head. Immediately after, she swung, connecting with his face. There was a loud, completely audible crunch of glass, and James cried out in pain as he fell back-wards.

And as instantly as her anger had come, it evaporated into a thick smog of shame... Mrs. Potter rushed forward to help her son, fussing over him as she righted his shirt and mended his shattered glasses with a wave of her wand. She poked at his eye, and he recoiled gingerly, obviously sore. Aryanna hastily grabbed her trunk and turned to go before they made her pay for her little loss of composure. Mrs. Potter had, after all, been so kind, helping a strange girl through the magical barrier, explaining the Wizarding World... and Aryanna had re-paid her kindness by assaulting her only son. An arm restrained Aryanna as she attempted another step forward. Gingerly, Aryanna chanced a glance up-wards, following the length of an arm to look into the face of Mrs. Potter's husband, James Senior, roaring with laughter. His entire body was shaking, and behind the rims of his glasses, tears welled up in his eyes. He swatted at them hap-hazardly, still chuckling as he attempted to speak.

" You're a right firecracker, you are! " James' father exclaimed, in his deep, yet re-assuring voice, clapping Aryanna on the back. " You had better stay on the right end of this one, James, you hear? " He called to his son, who was grumbling as he got to his feet, ignoring the stares of the people around us, as a crowd that had begun to form. Out of the corner of her eye, Aryanna caught a boy pointing at James, shaking with laughter as his mother stared in our direction, with a disapproving glare, her haughty almost royal features turned up in distaste. He himself looked a lot like her, with high cheek bones and aristocratic features, and dark brown, silky looking hair. Aryanna turned, choosing to ignore this, looking back to James, who righted himself, and dusted off his slacks, his cheeks burning red. Aryanna had embarrassed him, ruined his arrogant bravado, disarmed him in a mere matter of moments. Quickly, James righted his glasses on his face, cautiously peering over the rims of his spectacles. Another look was chanced at Mrs. Potter and Aryanna noticed that she herself looked as though she was restraining a smile.

" Right. Aryanna you said? " James mumbled. She nodded, not wanting to push the boy to his breaking point after publicly embarrassing him. " You play Quidditch? "

_Quidditch!_ Aryanna had literally absorbed every bit of knowledge she could about what she understood to be the most popular (and in my eyes, the only) and widely recognized magical sport in existence! Ever since that day in Diagon Alley, when she'd been collecting her things for school, and had passed the window of _Quality Quidditch Supplies,_ and seen the model of a Quidditch pitch, with miniature players mounted on brooms, in brightly coloured robes, zooming around each other, dodging and catching balls, twirling, mounting and diving, as if they had their very own set of wings. Instead of purchasing a few spellbooks, Aryanna had purchased almost never-ending sized volumes on Quidditch, the history of it and the teams of Ireland, who, she knew without a doubt, she would ultimately be supporting. For two weeks straight, Aryanna had sat at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, pouring over these books until she had every last detail memorized. To Aryanna Wood, the urge to feel the wind soaring through her hair, to straddle a broom and feel the power of it vibrating in your hands as you soared to-wards a goal post.. she could've sworn that Quidditch was in her blood.

But what could she say? She had not played yet, and certainly that didn't give her experience. She may have memorized every piece of Quidditch fact she could get her hands on, but that didn't make her a Quidditch player. That didn't give her any talent.

" I-I'm muggle born? I think that's what you call it. " She started sheepishly, voice just above a whisper, averting eyes away from James. " I've never been on a broom. "

Looking into the astonished face of James Potter, It became apparent to Aryanna that this was, in fact, his first day, and that maybe she should've been kinder to him, arrogant prat that he was.. she was, after all, probably the first muggle he'd ever come across. _Muggle-born. _Aryanna made it a point to correct herself. Standing on this Platform, beside the billowing and steaming Scarlett engine, that PROVED that Aryanna Wood was a witch, right? It couldn't possibly be a mistake.

" Well, I suppose that means you won't have a favourite team, so let me just tell you.. " James exclaimed suddenly, stepping forward and swinging an arm around her shoulder and shoving her forward, nodding his head toward his dad and the abandoned trunks. It was if he was ushering Aryanna off into a business meeting, or something similar. James Potter had a lot of charisma, that much was apparent. " .. the merits of the greatest Quidditch team in the world, Puddlemere Uni-.. "

" Kenmare Kestrels. "

James slapped his forehead, and groaned rather audibly. " The bloody Irish. "

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" You'd better owl us! " James' mom trilled, pulling her son into a great bear hug, her eyes welling with un-shed tears. Over his shoulders, James cast a rather hopeless look, as though urging Aryanna to run. She released him, kissing him furiously on both cheeks before turning in Aryanna's direction, who could merely blink impassively, probably looking something like a deer caught in the headlights of an automobile as Mrs. Potter charged forward and embraced her, a strange young girl she'd only met forty five minutes previous. Quickly, James Sr. appeared, having just loaded the trunks onto the train, despite Aryanna's protests. He clapped his son on the back, and then urged his wife to release her.

" Really, Rebecca! The girl is turning purple. "

Rebecca Potter quickly and almost sheepishly relinquished her grip, taking Aryanna in with one last sweeping glance, and stepping backward to stand beside her husband.

" Make sure you eat all your helpings at meals, you two! " She exclaimed, though the distinct impression existed that her comment was more for Aryanna's benefit than it was for James', who looked as though he had never left a meal any less than completely and totally satisfied. Together, James Potter and Aryanna Wood boarded the train, just as it began to pull away from the station, gaining speed and momentum as steam poured from it's chimney in great billowing rings. Slowly, James' parents, both waving became lost in the crowd, as the crowd itself became streaks of colour, impossible to distinguish faces among it. Turning finally, away from the window, they began to walk down the long corridor, shoving past larger students, ignoring the screech of owls and the rumbling of the wheels of trolley and trunk, as well as the laughter of fellow students, and trying to locate an empty compartment.

" My mum always wished I had a sister. " James said finally, glancing sideways at his new companion. " The worst thing you could've done was approach her, now you're trapped. "

And as the two carried on down the train, Aryanna Wood did not mention to James that she couldn't possibly think of a downside to that.

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End file.
